Empty now, the room doesn’t seem too threatening, but it can and does feel crowded depending on how many people attend. And it’s likely to be a full house for the trial tomorrow, People vs. Kennedy. A teacher accused of sexual assault against a minor tends to draw a crowd.
On the plus side, the trial is likely to be short. Three days at the most, including the judge’s summing up and the opening and closing arguments. On the negative side, the reason it will be so short is because all the witnesses have dropped out. One-by-one, like a slow leaking faucet. That’s because after the initial complaints were laid, parents began to realize the terrible effects the process was having on their children. Not to mention the public scandal side of things. It was too much of a burden for them to bear. So they departed like rats from a sinking ship. Not that I blame them. I probably would have done the same thing.
So it was all down to little Susie Watson and me. I look at Susie now, sitting in the dark green leather-buttoned judge’s chair, watching Dance Moms on my tablet, and think how crazy it is that this entire case hangs on the word of this child. Yes, there was some medical evidence but that was in no way foolproof, and the defense will seek to exploit any ambiguity in the medical examiner’s interpretation of what she found when she saw Susie, months after the events.
Right now, Susie seems oblivious to it all, to the ordeal she will have to go through tomorrow. But kids do that, don’t they? Pretend not to care, pretend everything is okay, when underneath they are positively rigid with fear.
“Thanks for letting her play with that,” says Claire, nodding to the tablet. “She wants an iPhone. But she’s a good kid. She doesn’t pester me. Knows we can’t afford it. Give Ms. Kellaway’s iPad back, baby, and say thank you.”
I look at Claire and Susie, this tight team of two, and feel a flash of envy. How will I ever be able to bring a child of my own into my messed-up world?
Susie hands me the iPad. “Thank you, Ms. Kellaway.”
“You’re welcome, Susie.”
She gives me an uncertain smile and twists the beaded bracelet on her right wrist while she waits for me to begin. On her tiny clipped fingernails, there are remnants of faint blue nail polish from a mother-daughter pamper session sometime back. What was it like to be eleven, I wonder. Eleven and in this position. A little kid just trying to hold on to whatever childhood she can salvage in the midst of all this darkness. Both mother and daughter look at me expectantly, and I know they are hoping I can somehow fix what happened. Suddenly I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I take out the trial briefing from my satchel. “Are you ready to go over your questions now, Susie?”
“What happened to your foot?” she says, without looking up from the bracelet she’s twirling round her wrist.
“Susie,” scolds Claire.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I had an accident.”
Susie frowns, inspects a lime green bead with great interest. “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.” I turn and look at the empty courtroom. “Susie, we need to run through what you’re going to say tomorrow.” I point to the witness box. “You’ll sit right up here, but don’t worry because there will be a screen so you won’t be able to see him.”
“Was it a car accident?”
“No, not a car accident. The screen means he won’t be able to see you either.”
Susie finally looks at me. “What kind of accident?”
“Listen to Ms. Kellaway, baby, what she’s saying is important,” says Claire.
I crouch to face Susie. “I got a splinter in my foot and it got infected. Susie, tomorrow I’m going to ask you questions. Then Mr. Kennedy’s lawyer will ask you questions, too.”
“A splinter’s not an accident.”
Claire throws her head back and blinks at the ceiling. “Susie, for the love of God.”
I pause. “Would you like to see it?”
The girl’s eyes widen and she nods.
“You don’t have to do that,” says Claire.
“It’s fine.”
I pull out one of the hardbacked chairs and sit down and slip off my orthopedic shoe and sock. Both Claire and Susie fall silent as they stare at my ugly half lump.
“It’s not so bad,” I say finally.
“You must be brave,” says Susie.
I put my shoe back on and face Susie. “Well, tomorrow it’s your turn to be brave.”
“Can Mom sit with me?”
“No. But Annie the social worker will be there, standing right behind you in case you need anything. All you have to do is tell the court exactly what you told me. Then your job will be done and you can go home.”
“I don’t want to.”
“It’s going to be fine, Susie. You just need to tell the truth,” I say.
“Will Mr. Kennedy go to jail?”
I nod. “I hope so. Will you do it for me, Susie? So he can’t hurt any more girls?”
She looks at me. “Will it be like last time?”
I frown. “Last time?”
“When I was little, when the lady called me a liar and said I was making it up but I wasn’t.”
My foot begins to throb.
I look at Claire. “What’s Susie talking about?”
Claire stares at me without speaking.
“Claire?”
“I was gonna tell you. I swear I was, but there was never a right time.”
I feel a weight in my chest. “Tell me what, Claire?”
She pivots and presses her forehead to the wall. “Christ, I’m such a freaking idiot.”
“Claire.”
“It’s ancient history, Amelia.”
Suddenly I’m drained. “Has Susie made a similar accusation before?”
Claire hits the wall with her palm. Curses some more. I rub my hand over my face and long to lock myself inside the safety of my apartment.
“I’m going to ask you the question again, Claire. This time I need an answer. Has Susie made a similar accusation before?”
A barely perceptible nod.
“When?”
“Preschool. She was four.”
“Where?”
“Seattle. I lived out there with Susie’s father.”
“They said I made it up,” says Susie. “But I didn’t, did I, Momma? You helped me remember, didn’t you? I was telling the truth. That man Lucas touched me.”
Claire begins to cry. “No, baby.”
Susie frowns. “He did. I remember.”
“No, baby. It was a mistake. Nothing happened to you.”
Susie touches her mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, Momma.”
The last thing I want is Susie getting distressed so I make a suggestion. “Hey, Susie, how would you like to play on my iPad again while I talk with your mom?”
Susie glances at her mother, uncertain.
Claire nods. “It’s okay, baby. Go ahead.”
I unlock my tablet, hand it to Susie, and steer Claire toward the last row in the public gallery.
“Talk to me, Claire,” I whisper, my frustration rising.
She wipes the tears with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me what happened.”